


watch it last

by deadlifts



Category: Hades (Video Game 2018)
Genre: Anal Sex, Dubious Consent, Frottage, M/M, Spit As Lube, a man dies throughout the narrative, dick stepping, scythe play, talk of war and death
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-26
Updated: 2020-10-26
Packaged: 2021-03-08 22:55:40
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,233
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27214531
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/deadlifts/pseuds/deadlifts
Summary: Death is far from gentle.
Relationships: Ares/Thanatos (Hades Video Game)
Comments: 6
Kudos: 132





	watch it last

**Author's Note:**

> Please check the tags before reading.

Dawn is breaking over the sky when Thanatos arrives. 

A man rests slumped against a pillar, twitching in the orange glow of the sun. His eyes stare through Thanatos, unseeing. 

Despite his best efforts to linger in the underworld with Zagreus, Thanatos is early. 

He hates being early. 

As the light in the sky grows, the light within the man dims until it is barely a flicker, his soul lingering long enough to force Thanatos to watch his final moments. Thanatos grips his scythe and awaits the end. 

"Helios certainly takes his sweet time in beginning his journey," comes a familiar, haughty voice — one that causes Thanatos to grip his scythe a little tighter. 

"What are you doing here?" Thanatos asks without turning around. "This man isn't a victim of your war." 

"On the contrary," Ares replies, walking over to the man and crouching down to watch his eyes roll back. "War does not have to be violent and bloody, though I much prefer when it is. Sometimes it is quiet, sneaky, and ends with an important man dying alone, poisoned in his own house by his very own men." Ares sounds proud as he speaks, as though such an underhanded murder is boastworthy. 

Thanatos scoffs, refusing to hide his disgust. 

Ares looks up at him with a predatory smile, the kind that would undoubtedly cause a mortal man to shrink back in fear. "You must admit it is impressive, the creative ways in which men end each other." 

"You praise cowardice." Thanatos looks down at the man — indeed still a man, rather than a body, because he continues to fight to live despite the inevitability of his departure from this realm. 

"I praise all forms of war, regardless of how bravely or cowardly they are executed." Ares rises and steps forward. He has the gall to extend his hand, as though aiming to touch Thanatos, but reaches instead for the scythe, brushing the tips of his fingers along the point. "I praise all forms of death as well." 

"That isn't true," Thanatos replies flatly, pulling back his scythe and positioning it behind him. "You would not praise a natural death. If it isn't conducted in the name of war, you don't care for it." 

"How wrong you are." Ares does not withdraw his hand. He simply moves it so that it now touches the wing of Thanatos' spaulder. "I have said it before, but for you, I will say it again: I am a student of death. All forms of death." He migrates his hand from Thanatos' shoulder to his chest, glancing his touch over the grooves of the metal that Thanatos wears. "I am _your_ student." 

"Enough of this," Thanatos says, doing his best to ignore the way his body responds to Ares — the way heat spreads from his core when Ares flicks a thumb over his exposed nipple. "I have work to do." 

"Oh, but your man is not yet dead. Look at him." 

He is correct. The man's life lingers. Thanatos can't help but feel this is somehow Ares' doing, though he does not possess the ability to keep mortals alive after their time has come — and should have no reason for trying. 

Ares slips his fingers beneath the hem of Thanatos' robes. "I only bear witness to the deaths that result from war, but you..." He lowers himself onto his knees, as though in reverence, trailing his fingers down the length of the hem until he reaches Thanatos' belt. "You see it all." He grasps the skull-faced belt buckle. 

The sight of Ares, a God who bends for no one, kneeling before him wears at Thanatos' already-threadbare resolve. It drags desire out from the pit of his being — forces him to face the fact that no matter how hard he may try to deny it, he wants this. 

He wants to take Ares — claim him as he claims all mortal life. 

Thanatos steps back. He fails to separate himself from Ares. 

Ares releases his belt and speaks again. "Every day I watch men attempt to conquer one another, but you — Death — conquer all." He leans forward, across the gap of space between them, mouth nearly touching Thanatos' groin as he adds, "Even me." 

Death is not a passive force. Ares knows this — uses this fact to his advantage. As his teeth begin to tug at the fabric barrier between his lips and what he seeks, he urges Thanatos toward action. 

Thanatos raises his foot and plants it firmly between Ares' legs, beneath his faulds, setting the sole of his boot against the bulge of Ares' cock, where he will be most sensitive — most vulnerable. "I said enough." He applies pressure — lightly at first, then firmer, until Ares is groaning from pain and pleasure both. "I don't have time for your games." 

"Thanatos." Ares' breath is hot against his groin. Thanatos feels the warmth of it through his clothing. "You know I like it rough." 

Thanatos presses harder. 

"And I know — _ah_ , you like to be rough, underneath all this." He mouths at Thanatos' clothed cock as he speaks. "Death is far from gentle, is it not?" He looks up, grinning once more, despite the heavy boot between his legs. 

"Get up," Thanatos orders him. 

Ares stands, rolling his hips against Thanatos' boot in the process. He rises until they are face-to-face once more. He moves to close the gap, but Thanatos holds out his palm, pressing it flat against Ares' chest. 

"Do it," Ares encourages. "Show me who has true dominion over war." 

Thanatos shoves him. Ares collides against the pillar, his foot kicking the dying man as he makes impact. The man topples. Distantly, Thanatos knows he is breathing his last. He knows it is time. 

And yet, he is too busy laying claim to someone else to collect his wayward soul — too busy swinging his scythe forward to trap Ares against the pillar with the blade set against his neck, too busy shoving his knee between Ares' legs to keep him still. He's too preoccupied by the whine that escapes Ares' throat when he reveals that he, too, is hard beneath his clothing — when he grinds himself against Ares' leg, and Ares, in turn, thrusts himself against his knee. 

" _Thanatos_ ," Ares moans. "Only you can bring about my ruin. And only I can accept the destruction you offer." 

"You love — to hear your own voice," Thanatos says, his words breaking at the threat of a whine. 

Ares arches his back, his head hitting the pillar behind him. "Not as much as I love —" Thanatos pulls back his knee only to shove it against his cock again. Ares loses his speech to a moan, and when he finds it again, it comes out unsteady. " _Yes_ , that exactly." 

There is nothing graceful about the way that Thanatos grinds himself against Ares' leg — the way he keeps him pinned by his knee, rubbing it against his cock without any finesse. It is ugly and raw, not unlike the battles of men, and that's why Ares responds to it with such fervor. He enjoys the way Thanatos loses himself to his violent impulses — the way Thanatos grips his hip with bruising strength and rubs against him as though Ares' pleasure is an afterthought to his own. 

They are driven by pure instinct, and it is that instinct that leads Thanatos to hitch back his robes and shove his pants down. He removes his gauntlet and crudely spits on his hand, slickening his cock while Ares shimmies out of his undergarments with expert fluidity. Ares leaves on his faulds, because like most Olympians, he is vain and unwilling to separate himself from his nature. 

And because it is like a battle, after all: Thanatos hooking his arm under Ares' leg to spread him open, Ares digging his fingers into his hip, the sound of metal armor clanking against the pillar. There is even a weapon between them, and as Thanatos pushes himself inside of Ares, Ares inclines his neck in such a way that it stretches dangerously close to being pierced by the blade. 

Like battle, this act is harsh. Thanatos urges himself inside of Ares knowing full well that it hurts, that Ares' bitten back cries are from pain rather than pleasure, that Ares tenses because his body is being seared open. 

But Ares is hard and leaking beneath his faulds, and through clenched teeth, he groans out, "More," and, "You know I am the only one who can take this — the only one who can take you." 

Thanatos does not falter until he has bottomed out — until the heat of Ares' body has entirely engulfed him. Ares clenches around him tightly, internally resisting this intrusion, despite how his cock begs for attention. 

Thanatos has always wished to be gentle — to carry souls to the afterlife calmly and with care. But there is no denying that death is hardly tender and rarely peaceful. Death continues forward no matter how hard the living resist it; death lays claim to all. 

So he thrusts without pause, brutality in each snap of his hips, driving Ares into the pillar. Ares digs his heel into his back, his nails into his skin, his teeth into his own lip. Thanatos slides himself out and shoves himself back in, eliciting a grunt from Ares each time his back collides with the pillar. The blade remains between them — continues to threaten Ares with his demise, and Thanatos with his own unwanted power. 

With every thrust, Thanatos nears the brink of all-consuming pleasure, loses all his thoughts of life and death, until he is left with only this: the feeling of Ares shuddering against him, clenching around him, crying out as Thanatos' cock hits the one place inside of Ares that undoes him. 

Thanatos brings a momentary end to the God of War — the only end to which Ares himself falls prey. 

Ares' body grows weak and pliant, but he remains upright, held against the pillar, leg still propped up by Thanatos' arm. Thanatos continues to fuck him, thrust into him, ruin him. Ares' once haughty voice shatters into whimpers and whines; his strong muscles turn quivering and useless. And yet he continues to grasp Thanatos, remains open and willing, overstimulated and yet still so eager for unkind treatment. 

He moans, "Yes," as Thanatos' hips jerk unsteadily once he nears his peak, and then moans again as Thanatos pitches into him, against the handle of the scythe, shoving the blade dangerously close to slicing through armor and immortal flesh both. 

Thanatos spills his seed inside of the God of War, and for a moment, sees and hears nothing — feels only the force of his pleasure raze through him. 

Then it is over. Thanatos sags against Ares, his mind returning to him, settling over him the realization that even here, even in this, he sought to destroy. 

Even in the throes of pleasure, Thanatos seeks to end. 

"None of that, now," Ares says softly when he notices that Thanatos' gaze has gone distant, that his mind has wandered toward regret. "You know we were made for this. War and death go hand-in-hand, and I will continue to offer mine to you, as often as you — and I — both need." 

"I don't want this," Thanatos argues, pulling himself out of Ares. He pushes away from the pillar but leaves Ares pinned by his scythe. "This is your doing." 

He wants these urges as much as he wants his role as the god of death. Neither are easy on him, and neither get better in time. 

"My doing?" Ares laughs. "I see no war here. Only two gods serving the same purpose in different ways." 

Thanatos looks away from him, pulling up his pants, retrieving his gauntlet, and readjusting his robes. He feels soiled, dirtied by his own nature. 

Ares remains chipper, as though mere moments prior, he hadn't been completely overcome. "You may consider this a professional courtesy, if that makes it easier for you." 

"There is nothing courteous about this," Thanatos says, turning back to face him. 

He grasps the handle of his scythe and thinks about how it lays claim to all living things. 

Even Zagreus, who dies on loop, always winds up at his mercy in the end. 

"Perhaps not," Ares replies. "But I enjoy it, even so." 

Thanatos pulls his scythe away. The tip nicks Ares' breastplate. Ares does not wilt under its touch. He does not die. 

And that is why, no matter how much Thanatos complains about the nature of this arrangement, he will end up right back in it — against Ares, beside Ares, within Ares. 

Like Zagreus, he too is stuck in a loop. 

Ares pushes himself back from the pillar, entirely composed. It takes him only a moment to pull back on his underclothes and fix his armor. Then he straightens, appearing every part the formidable God of War. 

Ares looks down at the poisoned man, now long dead. "Go on," he says with a wave of his hand, "Collect his soul. I do so enjoy watching this part." 

A mortal woman comes running, crying out when she sees the man crumpled on the ground. 

Thanatos raises his scythe. 

More mortals come to see the dead man, each new cry joining the rest. 

Ares sows. Thanatos reaps. 

Around them, the mortals weep. 


End file.
